


caesura

by stuffy_j



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Dean Winchester, Coming Untouched, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 10:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20375542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffy_j/pseuds/stuffy_j
Summary: “I died for you, Dean,” he had said, and it wasn’t an accusation, but Dean felt it stab through him anyway, inexorable.PWP. Set at the beginning of season 5. Castiel comes back to life.





	caesura

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foldingcranes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/gifts).

> I've been rewatching spn and getting all up in my emotions about it again, but this is my first time really writing fic for it. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> This is for Kasi, who I dragged down into this trash heap with me hehehe.

There’s something frantic in the way Castiel moves, hips pounding forward over and over again, and Dean can do nothing but take it, open his mouth and let out short, bitten-off moans. There’ll be bruises tomorrow, probably, and Dean decides to blame the sharp, sweet pulse of _want_ that echoes through him at that thought on the lack of oxygen, because how the hell is he supposed to breathe properly like this, with Cas pushing into him, filling him up so there’s no room for anything _but_ Cas. The heat of him burns inside of Dean, and he’s viscerally reminded of Jimmy Novak’s words: _it’s like being chained to a comet_.

Castiel is panting over him, and Dean didn’t think angels had to breathe, but maybe Cas came back different, somehow. More or less of an angel, Dean’s not sure, because Cas had died, exploded by an archangel, and Dean had said _Cas, you stupid bastard_ and his eyes had burned, but he didn’t cry, not in front of Sam and Chuck. Because Cas gave his life for Dean. Because Dean asked him to stay, and he did, and he _died_. 

He feels his eyes burn, now, as Castiel strikes that spot inside him that makes him cry out, makes him clutch Cas’ shoulders like if he lets go, he’ll fall. Castiel’s own eyes are wide, pupils dilated so much that there’s only a thin ring of blue visible as he stares down at Dean, and Dean can’t interpret the look in them, but there’s something wild staring down at him. Something on the precipice of being human, and it makes him shudder and arch his back. 

The shitty motel bed creaks beneath them, sounding like it might give out at any moment, and the headboard is banging against the wall. He doesn’t care, though, not when Castiel is filling him up with every thrust, splitting him open, making Dean gasp and moan and rake his nails down Cas’ back, spread his thighs wider. “Please,” he hears himself beg, ripped out of him involuntarily, “c’mon, Cas, _please_.” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but Castiel must, because his hips, impossibly, speed up, plunging in and out of Dean, and it’s so good, makes Dean beg for _more, more, please, more_. Cas is so hard inside of him, hard and wet, has been since the moment he appeared in Dean’s motel room, from the moment he shoved Dean up against the wall and pressed biting kisses to his lips, buried his head in the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder.

“I died for you, Dean,” he had said, and it wasn’t an accusation, but Dean felt it stab through him anyway, inexorable.

“Yeah,” he’d croaked, could feel hot puffs of breath from Cas’ mouth against his neck. It wasn’t an apology, though he’d meant it as one. Dean hadn’t known what else to say. He’d clenched his hands into fists in the back of Castiel’s coat, bunched tan fabric between his fingers. Tried to feel for any differences. To feel if Cas wasn’t real, had been brought back wrong. But it was him, as far as Dean could tell, angel made flesh once more, pinning Dean to the wall. And then there had been a hard thigh between his legs, lips on his, possessive, consuming, and Dean’s head hadn’t stopped spinning as Castiel moved him like he was nothing.

“With me,” Castiel growls, and Dean’s eyes snap to his, mouth dropping open on a whine as Cas’ hips slow down, still spearing hard and deep into Dean. “I want you _here_,” he says.

Dean feels himself clench around Castiel’s length, words rumbling through him, sending sparks zipping up his spine, down his legs where they’re wrapped around Cas’ hips, making his toes curl. “Yeah,” he murmurs, and it’s another apology that he can’t make himself say, but Cas seems to get it, because his eyes soften, the light in them no less fierce, but warmer somehow. He rolls his hips again, and Dean bites his lip, because it’s good, it’s so fucking _good_, and Cas’ mouth is red and wet above him and suddenly all he wants is to kiss him.

Like he knows what Dean’s thinking (and who knows; maybe he does, Dean wouldn’t put it past him), Castiel shifts, hitches Dean’s hips up higher, folds him in on himself so they can press their lips together. Cas kisses like it’s a battle he plans on winning: all teeth and tongue, expansive, devouring. It leaves Dean gasping as Castiel moves to his neck, biting the thin skin over his pulse, sucking marks that Dean won’t be able to hide later. He kisses the dip between Dean’s collarbones and moves back up, hands finding Dean’s wrists and holding them to the mattress, twining their fingers together, nosing at the space between Dean’s jaw and ear. He sucks another mark there, grinding his cock in deep, and Dean throws his head back against the mattress with a shout, cock jerking and drooling against his stomach in the space between their bodies. 

He thinks about trying to wrap a hand around himself, but Castiel’s hold is unbreakable, and it’s a tenuous desire at best, swept away by the soft head of Cas’ cock striking his prostate over and over. He can feel the orgasm building at the base of his spine, knows it’s not going to take much more to push him over that edge.

There are words falling from his lips, an incoherent stream that mostly consists of begging and Cas’ name, and Cas has his face tucked into the curve of Dean’s neck, lips brushing the line of his throat. He’s murmuring something that Dean can’t make out, but his rhythm grows sharper, more disjointed, and Dean knows he’s getting close, knows he’s going to fill him up soon, leave his mark inside of Dean, a brand to match the handprint on his shoulder, the sigils carved into his ribs. Castiel has marked him from the inside out; written himself into Dean’s body, remade him, knitted his flesh back together, breathed air back into his lungs. He’s filled Dean with life, with purpose, and given himself over to Dean, given himself _up_ for Dean. Rebelled for Dean.

He’s come back to Dean, after he’d thought Cas gone forever.

And that’s the thought that makes Dean shudder and tense, come striping his stomach as he moans, feels Cas’ fingers tighten around his, Cas’ hips stutter against him. 

“Dean,” he hears Cas say, and then he’s coming inside him, hot and wet, filling Dean up until he knows he’s going to be leaking with it, raw and used. And _fuck_, he wants it, wants Castiel inside him all the time, filling up all the empty spaces. Wants Castiel to plant himself inside of Dean and never leave, never go away. 

Dean can feel his heart hammering away in his chest as he comes down, his breathing loud in his own ears. Castiel is slumped over him, warm and heavy and alive, and Dean’s come is sticky and gross between them, Cas’ cock slowly growing soft inside of Dean, and it’s going to be uncomfortable if they don’t move soon, but Dean can’t. Can’t make himself push Cas off, push him away.

The air conditioner clunks to life in the corner of the motel room with a pained wheeze. He lets himself lay there, feels the beat of Castiel’s heart against his own chest. Strokes a hand down the length of Castiel’s spine. Closes his eyes. A few tears slip from the corner of his eyes to his hairline, leaving tracks across his skin. 

In a few hours, he’ll think about the apocalypse, about Lucifer roaming the planet, about what their next steps are. For now, he lets himself have this. Just a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stuffy_jj)


End file.
